


The Black Letter

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse in general, Cheritz, F/M, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Substance Abuse, all that shit, every trigger, kinda slowburn, sexual stuff, you were warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-06 04:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: In which you: an overworked, overstressed, highly manic, functioning alcoholic nightclub hostess, receive a curious phone inside of a black letter - with only one application on it, simply titled "RFA". As if your life isn't hectic enough, stepping into a dead girl's shoes, in theory you're the perfect person for the job. Most of those involved in the formation of the RFA can agree to that, you have the charm, charisma, industry links and 'influencer' profile that would scream a successful RFA organiser....And yet, somehow, you might be more trouble than you're worth.---Jumin Han: What do you mean, you have no idea where you are?(Sent: 6:00AM, Seen ✓ )





	1. The Black Letter

 

It was a particularly busy night at work. For a while, things had been mercifully simple with fairly inoffensive clientele for once – largely birthday celebrations and groups of foreign ESL teachers in packs, saying goodbye to each other before taking a break before the fresh wave of student intake in a few months, but typically, it doesn’t last. The kinds of people that come to a nightclub like Millennium with the intent of going up the spiral staircase are a lot more complicated for you to handle. The wide low-step staircase leads to the more exclusive "Players Lounge" VIP rooms are typically reserved for those with excessive wealth to spend and want to talk where the hum of the music is lower and just a soft vibration beneath chandeliers in low-light.

 

Behind the bar, you smile when you spot one of your colleagues sweep in, having found the busser and taking drink mixing duties, you were back to sweeping through the tables and checking ice buckets.

 

“Ah, there she is!” a warm, loud voice cut through, making you suddenly force your limbs to relax. It’s difficult not to tense up completely when Wu Hyun Su is physically on the premises during business hours, but he’s been coming more and more often lately. In different sections are plush seating and raised tables with ice buckets of premium alcohol, each being served by various service hostesses. Skinny, gorgeous little waifs in tight dresses or cheongsams with heels that could carve glass and make glamour look effortless. Wu summarily dismisses his own that is catering to his booth in favour of you once he spots you leaving the bar to check tables.

 

“Come here! My friends want to see you,” he grins, putting out a cigarette in a small crystal tray at the edge of the high table.

 

Wu sits in one of the bigger seating areas, taking a majority of his sofa with just his presence, sitting spread-legged with his suit jacket draped across his shoulders to prevent alcohol spilling on his needlessly expensive American imported suits. He’s a far cry from the tacky, hair-slicked stereotypes of _geondal –_ organized thugs – in Korean media, and usually looks like he’d just stepped away from a photoshoot. Neat, feathery black, back-combed hair and a sharp smile that is anything but kind, radiating a haughty attitude. He’s sat with a few other men in suits who are captivated by the cultural blend of the expat-heavy nightclub. You’re brought over and instantly gawked at, sticking out noticeably as considerably taller and wider set than the native staff. You’re also dressed differently from the tube dresses and cheongsams. Thicker set and tall figure adorned in an ostentatious red, halter-wrap-crop-top modified _bedlah_ and matching sash skirt-belt that jingled as you walked, over an arguably too-Western black skirt that rode up your thighs slightly, and a matching, sheer veil under your nose to your chin with similar jingling gold coin-like articles from them – gaining the passing stares of the other VIPs as you made your way over.

 

In your hands is a fresh top up of premium imported vodka intended for an empty bucket, but he merely pats on the space beside his knee when you go to put it in the bucket.

 

“Join us, please,” it’s an order more than a question, and before you can reply, a pair of firm hands make their way to your waist and pull you down with a graceless clamber. Korean clubgoers are typically handsy, but usually not so forceful and take rejection easily. Wu presents no such options to you, and drags you almost directly onto his knee, but you just manage to place yourself half on the sofa for some control, holding the bottle almost protectively to your chest. Any tenseness you feel is stomped down in favour of a toothy smile and tucking some hair out of your face.

 

“How exotic!” the platinum-haired man exclaims, eyes raking all over your belly-dancing outfit which had the honour of being your chosen attire for days when Wu was coming in. He preferred having you out of your tube dresses and cocktail outfits in favour of something more exotifying – the customers seemed to prefer it that way too.

 

“Boss?” you speak to him in English, knowing that the novelty for guests is what makes your presence worth it. Wu rewards you with another smile, more of a smirk, and leans back, gesturing with a snap of his fingers to the closest empty glass. The other men at the booth are watching curiously, impressed by Wu’s well-spoken English in reply.

 

 _‘Ah, he’s showing off, that’s why I’m here.’_ Your Korean is employment-passable rather than natural sounding, but you could speak it, so this was an effort to show how cultured he was, you assumed.

 

“This man put on the most wonderful show, you should have come,” he says, gesturing to the more handsome man in the room, with perfectly carved features, silver hair and eyes that shimmered like wet rubies under the lowlight of the booth. Of course, he looks like an actor of some sort – but you’d seen plenty of handsome men come and go, it’s only now that you remember Wu inviting you, and how you had to turn him down just so you could have more hours in the day to sleep. Wu’s hands are still at your hips, pressing in hard but unnoticeably, almost painfully.

 

 _‘You should have come when I asked,’_ is what he really means.

The underlying abrasiveness of his kind words is there, you know how to read into everything Wu says for what it truly is. You ignore the pain and refill the glass Wu had drank from with the vodka still in hand and then set the bottle into the ice. Passing the glass to him, his hand stops the cup but doesn’t take hold, insistently pushing it into your chest. He wants to appear easygoing as well as cultured, so you take it and scoop in some ice with the tong-scoop left in the bucket, surprising the actor. Wu doesn’t seem to mind the intimacy of the shared cup, it’s as though he’s reinforcing his sense of ownership in a strange, subtle way. You pull down the veil to your neck and ignore Wu discreetly checking your lipstick – if he found your makeup or parts of your appearance sloppy too early into the night, it would be commented on.

 

“What a strong constitution!” Zen says as you immediately drink and without mixer, unsure if you can understand him. You reply in Korean which earns a beaming smile that would fluster most. Wu whispers something in your ear in English, something about making sure he has a good time, and that he wants repeat business from this man. You don’t question it, Wu has a habit of funding the arts and the opinions of people like this were very important to him, so you transition into an easy smile, falling back gently into your boss and ignoring the growing seed of discomfort in the bottom of your stomach. Wu always made you uneasy when he pulled you in this close, but he owned this club, dispensed your wages and by extension, owned your livelihood.

 

“Working for a man who puts so much time into his businesses requires a strong constitution, trust me,” you say, which earns a gentle snort from Wu as you begin sipping through the clear drink in your glass before the ice even turns it cold in your fingers. It’s a discreet insult, the kind only you’re brave enough to do and subtle enough to execute around Wu and not earn a backhand for. The tight hand that was still on your hip relaxed considerably as you slipped into conversation with the actor and his agent.

 

“Ah, it is a shame you could not have taken a break to come and see the show, I would have loved to have spot you in the crowd,” was that flirting? You’re not taken aback, flirting is a given in this industry and an unwritten part of your job description, but something about his forwardness and how he expected reciprocation kept you rather cool but friendly in response. Repeat business -you reminded yourself, feeling Wu’s intense stare at the back of your neck.

 

_‘Do what you have to do’._

“Maybe you’ll see more of me, I don’t hear Wu speak so highly of new performers so often – so that’s recommendation enough to catch you next time, I would consider it like a Michelin star.” Ah, compliment the boss whilst conveying your familiarity with him by using his first name and opening up your body language, it’s little things – you learn his stage name is Zen when you give him your own, the name you hostess under.

 

“Saah-haa-rahhh,” he sounds it out slowly with a growing smile “-that’s a very pretty stage name, I didn’t know hostesses had those,”.

 

Wu cut in suddenly, offering Zen a conspiratorial look.

 

“My girls do, I prefer to keep them safe from.... overzealous admirers, it helps protect them out of work hours,” he said, smoothly conveying himself to be far kinder than he is.

 

“What a novel idea! Is that a problem you have very often?” surprisingly, the actor seems genuinely concerned, which is strange, because a lot of the clientele you’re used to are often so self-absorbed that you don’t get asked follow-up questions about things involving yourself very often unless it’s to get you into the bed sheets.

 

You give Zen a lazy shrug and the tightest smile, feeling like your teeth might crack from the force of it as you felt Wu’s hand on your back, subtly reminding you of his presence.

 

“Oh, no, Wu takes very good care of us,” you give an easy laugh that is brought out by the alcohol going directly to your head that’s making you feel even more loose and limber against your boss, who feels more and more like his bodily presence is holding you neatly in place. “-as I’m sure you are getting a feel for yourself, this is the good stuff,” you burst into a grin and slosh the drink in your cup slightly, which was just ice now, and begin topping up everyone’s glasses, namely yours and the agent’s – the others don’t seem to be keeping up and you’re easily leading the charge, but your words distract from noticing just how much you’re drinking.

 

He asks a little about which country you’re from, and compliments your passable Korean, whilst you defer to Wu at every tasteful opportunity. It falls into the same boring conversation for you, you might service 2-3 VIP guests and even more non-VIP regular ones if there is a few empty booths and it’s always the same, despite living in Korea for two years, they all ask the same things. Where are you from? How do you like it here? Do you like Korean men? Very few of them spice it up, though when they do, it’s always an experience, for you, it feels mundane. Zen seems nice enough, if a little narcissistic, but Wu’s overbearing presence stops you fishing out any substantial, different conversation that you’d have with more regular VIPs. It seems like an eternity before Wu’s knee jostles you harshly and gets you to stand up – as you’ve been half-perched on him this entire time.

 

“How about a photo? I like to remember when I meet celebrities,” said Wu, fluffing the platinum-haired actor’s ego with ease. You take it to mean you’re taking the photo and take a few before Zen reaches out for you, smiling kindly at you.

 

“And one with the pretty hostess?” you have the nerve to look over your shoulder for someone else when he says it, earning a surprised laugh from Zen, who just makes a come-hither gesture and creates a gap between himself and his agent, taking the phone from you as you sit down. It seems he wants a more intimate selfie rather than a photo taken by Wu, so you put on your best smile and do your best not to look as obviously plastered as you feel.

 

You like to think you have it down to an art-form by now.

 

“Thank you, babe!” Zen grins and you ignore the over-familiarity. Over-familiarity is the name of the game in this business, and just smile back before rising to full height, ignoring the dull ache that returned in your feet and calves from the obscenely skinny and tall high heels.  

 

“Let me top you up, loves,” finally their glasses are empty and you’re able to walk around away from Wu’s hands, gracefully pouring and ignoring the none subtle leer of Zen’s agent as you bend over the table. High rolling clients was often synonymous with creepy old dudes, unfortunately, so you just flash him with a brilliant smile as he looks up from your chest to your eyes, blatantly caught but not berated, and slide his glass over to him with an acrylic nail.

 

This is par for the course, and neither Wu nor Zen seemed to notice, or be bothered if they were. Hostesses don't always work for a glamorous club like this and for the less upscale joints, you could certainly do worse, you’re considered fortunate, really. Hostesses learn a lot of hard facts about men, often dating older ones too, and how even the ‘nice’ ones can change under the influence of alcohol. The best thing you can do in this job is to get comfortably drunk and not think too hard about the men who come in with wedding rings still on their finger while pinching your thighs and backside so much you feel like a pin cushion by night’s end, or creepily pushing their erections against you when dancing. A lot of nights are repeated mundane conversations, refilling drinks, laughing at unfunny jokes and lighting cigarettes, finishing the night stinking of alcohol and ash. Unlike a lot of Western countries, clubs in South Korea are open every single day of the week until 6:00AM, and despite a ridiculously strenuous work culture, they live up to ‘work hard, play hard’ in every sense of the word, and you worked every God-given day of the week unless you were sick, or called away by Wu to do the same role for a private party.

 

It’s the most tiring existence you could have asked for.

 

Wu gets you dancing in those skinny heels of yours and surprisingly, the older agent is loosened up enough to start, it gets Zen laughing, and the rest of the night becomes a blur of hands on hips and alcohol sloshing wildly. Eventually, you’re called to another table as another hostess takes over once Zen is tired and wants to go home, you wave him off, and he makes a point to blow you a kiss, but you’re a little too drunk to register, eyes feeling extremely heavy as an older man leads you to his table.

 

_‘Just three more hours...’_

 

Time slips by like cigarette ash through your fingers – in a blur of men and soju. You’re lucky this place is billed heavier as a nightclub than a hostess club, as this treatment was only reserved for VIPs, and plenty of regular customers could be found bellow, it made the whole thing a lot more reputable feeling than most, and Wu liked having you in his other establishments at times, which had ‘club promoter’ added to your resume. You supposed you could be considered a successful hostess; people were beginning to call you a small-time ‘influencer’ because your videos of walking into luxury VIP suites and grinning besides businessmen who weren’t ashamed to be seen paying for your time. If you walked into a nightclub, it was a sure sign that the night was going to be a good one, and like an additional checkmark of quality to the venue itself. It had you spread all over Gangnam-gu in Wu’s businesses, like a walking advertisement, but your growing respectability didn’t make you any less of a target for lusty drunkards.

 

“Keep the party going?” one of the men in a deep navy suit asks, he’s not bad looking, but too old to have a serious interest in someone your age, yet it doesn’t seem to deter him.

 

It just meant more higher end clientele felt like you were worth the risk of trying to take home. It was flattering sometimes, but now it was just a means to an end, chasing a more meaningful conversation. It isn’t even so much that though, if you think about it, you’re not chasing much from men, you’re just running away from something else. The loneliness of a small apartment, the usually empty fridge packed only with meagre corner store snacks and hangover cures. You pay so little attention to yourself that getting groceries is pointless, they go bad by the time you have enough energy to think about cooking with them in the day. It’s a bleak little place, the only comfort you took was in putting on fluffy sleepwear and throwing your heels across the room. You take home a decent amount of won but really, there’s nothing there. Your money goes on outfits, shoes and makeup to maintain your look but there’s little else left for you emotionally, you don't have time to spend the money meaningfully. It’s a surprisingly empty feeling life.

 

“Only Wu’s friends,” you slurred out, gently pushing the man back by putting both hands flat on his chest and smiling at him wolfishly. Wu’s stricter rules had stopped you washing up in so many strange places with no recollection of getting there, and he preferred not to have his upscale establishment gain any sort of reputation because he prefers businessmen being able to be unashamed of their presence in Millennium, as part of his media promotions.

 

You can’t remember the rest of the night.

 

The only signs you’d gotten of safely getting home was an emailed e-receipt on your mobile of a cab from Millennium direct to your apartment. The too-heavy gaudy South Asian earrings dragged your ears down as you laid on your back trying to sleep. You make it to your bed, barely, your shoes in two different corners of the room. At some point you’d thrown up in the night because the taste of it was still in the back of your throat and dripping down the side of your bed. With a wince, you coughed and choked it out off the side of the bed, resolving to clean it later. If later ever came.

 

It’s a miracle you didn’t choke on it in your sleep and die from a lack of air, luckily you’d turned on your side just enough to spare you that miserable fate. Both your eyes and head pounded in unison, your throat feeling sandpapered, mouth dry and lingering with the taste of vomit, and stomach churning like a cement mixer – it all made you really, really _not_ want to get up.

 

  * _tagged MillenniumOfficial x4 new photos with you added_
  * _tagged HandsomeZEN x1 new photo with you added_



_859 Loved this._

 

Checking your phone, you see yourself tagged in a bunch of photos on Instax and sigh, turning down the brightness on your screen with a small noise of displeasure. It’s too fucking bright. Glancing at the time, it’s 3:00PM, and you had social media posts to do, a voicemail from Wu, and notifications from club photographers.

_‘Wu....’_

 

Moving your hand down your hips, you looked down and saw some faint bruising from the night prior. You slept naked, not having the energy to do much besides take most of your clothes off and didn’t even wipe your makeup off, wiping it all over your pillow. It seems that the heavy-handed boss had left his mark.

 

The thought made your eyes water briefly, but you stubbornly blinked it back. The pay was good for so little, and you met a lot of high rollers, a little bit of roughhousing was just...expected, you told yourself.

 

Resentfully, you don’t rush to listen to Wu’s voicemail, it’s probably drunken bullshit like usual. Staggering awake, you made your way to your fridge and found it only had bottled drinks and cans of various recovery drinks for long nights out, which were a staple part of your diet now. You got a six-pack of Dawn 808s out and numbly walked across to your living room, feeling your feet throb and calves hurt. Looking down, you saw some light brown and red bruising from the new heels, and you persistently ached. It’s only when you turn to your apartment door that you notice something had been slid underneath it into your room.

 

Strange, most of your mail comes through the apartments pigeonhole system in the lobby, unless the landlord was directly sliding something under the door. It’s ominous, so quickly make your way to it and see that it’s a black bubble-envelope, just thin enough to get under the crack of the door. Picking it up, there seems to be something small, slightly heavy and rectangle shaped inside.

 

With some relief it’s not an annoying notice or something from the landlord, it might be something that was meant for your neighbour, but with no address on the front, you’d never know without checking. Taking it under your arm, you grab a furry bath gown to cover yourself and give you a small sensation of comfort as your eyes and head pounded, your stomach still feeling queasy. You’d overdone it maybe, but most nights were overdoing it. At least you’d actually gotten to your apartment and not the other side of South Korea (which has also happened...).

 

There’s no food in your home, and your existence, for someone with a decent wage, is rather pathetic. You put on your small television for some background noise at a low volume and settle into your sofa, deftly picking at the envelope.

 

“For fucks sake,” you mutter, rubbing sticky, day-old mascara out of your eyelashes in a clump. You looked, and felt, like garbage.

 

Par for the course in your life at this point.

 

Tipping the envelope, the contents spills into your lap suddenly. To your surprise, it’s a small, black android phone.

 

“What on Earth...?” you mutter to yourself, seeing if it even worked or had enough battery to turn on. It did, and after a few minutes, a nondescript background of greenery came into view and the whole thing was utterly cleaned of data. There are no phone numbers, no texts, no nothing, just a camera application, an empty memo application, the app store, and a singular standalone app in the centre of the screen that read “RFA”.

 

 

You rubbed your eyes and shot off a confused text off of your own phone to the group chat for the other nightclub workers, if someone had lost a phone in the course of the night and maybe someone who actually knew where you lived tried to return it? No...that seemed a little far-fetched and weird, someone slid this under your door with intent, but you aired on the thought that maybe someone tried to return it to someone on this floor and made a mistake with the apartment number.

 

In no rush to move in your intense hangover state, or pay attention to daytime TV, you click on the RFA application on the phone, only for the whole thing to freeze, before a strange looking window took up most of the screen, as though it was blocking the rest of the app from actual view.

 

* * *

 

**_{ RFA }_ **

_UNKNOWN:  I hope I returned this phone to the right place, if I haven’t, I’m very sorry. I have been trying to get it to the right owner for some time now._

_UNKNOWN: I think you’re the right owner for this phone (:_

_UNKNOWN: Have fun...I’ll message you soon._

_UNKNOWN HAS LOGGED OFF._

 

 

You stared blankly at the phone. You were too hungover for this shit. So you have an extra phone now? Maybe someone will do a Find My Device search for it – but seeing how sparse the phone is, you wonder if it’s actually registered anywhere.

 

Honestly the whole thing feels super sketchy.

 

Finishing your recovery drink and feeling far from recovered, you drew your knees up to your chest and watched as the chat window closed itself, exposing a rather beautiful, space-like background of moving, glittering stars and a few options. It looked like it had its own internal email and chat client, but one quick look on your own mobile in the app store shows you nothing.

 

This has gone from ‘super’ to ‘extremely’ sketchy.

 

Deciding that there’s nothing else to look at, no emails and no emergency contacts or a way of emailing or leaving an IM for ‘Unknown’ without clicking the ‘RFA CHAT’ button, you hit it, and get given a few options. Without hesitating, you scrawl in your stage name and wait, it turns out not for long, because it seemed a few people were using this thing.

 

Honestly this was just starting to seem like a strange, convoluted prank. Maybe you should just post the missing phone up on a board or something and look for takers, this Unknown guy obviously got his shit wrong.

 

**_RFA CHATROOM_ **

_ONLINE: Jumin Han, ZEN, Yoosung★, 707, Jaehee Kang_

_SAHARA HAS JOINED THE CHAT._

There’s some mindless chatter before people realise you’ve joined the chatroom, which, from profile photo alone seems to be largely men, and your own is just a black space.

 

_Jumin Han: Who are you? Reveal yourself. Assistant Kang, why is there a stranger in our chatroom?_

Well, that’s a little melodramatic, you’re the one who had some weirdo slide a phone under your door. There’s some speculation about someone downloading the application on two phones, and from all the fuss, you wager it’s private. Yikes.

 

_You: What’s the big idea? Did I enter some private kink den chat? Someone slid a phone with only this app on it under my apartment door. I should be asking who YOU are. It has no contacts or anything. Did someone lose a phone and return it to the wrong place? If so, I can arrange a mail drop so you can pick it up._

There’s a flurry of activity after this and it’s enough to make your head hurt, you almost put the whole thing down because this shit is giving you a headache.

 

_707: lololololol what makes you think this is a kink chat (;_

_You: You all just went on and on about how private this application is and I don’t see it in the app store. Most people I know only go so far to hide humiliating and private things. It’s fine, I don’t care if it is. I just want to know whose been in my apartment complex._

There’s a fair bit of confusion after this, and vehement denials from everyone apart from the user ‘707’ about it being a kink chat. Frankly, you don’t care and would like a greasy breakfast and more sleep before the next shift. You mention something about ‘Unknown’ and find a way to screenshot the dead chat window before sending it and letting them figure out that you genuinely didn’t know what was going on, with strange demands to ‘confess’ to stealing the phone or app or whatever, and reveal your identity, you half wanted to just chuck the thing in the bin and be done with it, but curiosity easily won out.

 

_707: I traced the phone geo-location pings, someone went to Rika’s apartment and left her phone with this person. They aren’t lying about that._

 

_Yoosung★: Who was in Rika’s apartment?!_

 

_You: Who was in MY apartment!_

 

_707: well... I know where you live now, but it wasn’t me!_

There seems to be some squabbling, until someone brings up the Unknown again, and it is ‘agreed’ that you can keep the phone, strangely, because they want this ‘707’ person to try and trace them the next time they message, and they promised that they would.

 

_Jumin Han: Quit shitting around, so someone left the phone with you – but who exactly ARE you?_

_Jumin Han: Reveal yourself, stranger._

_Jumin Han: If you don’t reveal yourself, you will pay._

 

Okay, this pissed you off, how uppity – you were trying to get this bizarre mishandled phone back to the right place, and this weird maybe-kink den chat of suspicious people are grilling you intensely as though you’d stumbled into Area 51.

 

_You: There are very few *men* left on this Earth who can threaten me, and I assure you, you are not one of them._

Wu would have been raging if someone had said something like that to you, or any of his girls. It’s at this moment, you see a familiar face in the icon of a person who jumps in, which makes your head hurt even more.

 

_ZEN: Stranger you will pay? Lmfaooo ~*so scary*~_

_ZEN: Stranger has some sass haha, that’s a girly thing isn’t it? You’re a girl! I bet you are :D_

 

_Yoosung★: A girl :O !!?_

You don’t reply, and just hold your breath before clicking his photo, and then comparing it to the one uploaded on your Instax profile the night prior.

 

_707: I want you to let us know as soon as Unknown is messaging. Please keep hold of everything until then, the phone and this app._

_707: it is a necessary evil lololol_

 

_Jumin Han: Yes, but we’re getting off topic also. Stranger, reveal yourself. I will not ask again._

 

_ZEN: One of my fans?~_

_ZEN: Something about you is familiar..._

No fucking shit. You wonder if you could silence all this by uploading a photo, but the attitude of Jumin Han in particular was getting on your nerves, Zen knows who you are, it would probably dissuade some of all the strange suspicion levied at you.

_You: Zen, I know who you are, and you actually know who I am. I’ll upload a photo if this camera works, and then maybe you can tell me what the fuck is going on, who the hell came into my apartment complex and who the rest of you shady people are._

_You: For God’s sake, I’m a woman who lives alone and some weirdo puts an empty black envelope with a phone in it through the door and I’m suspicious?_

_Jaehee Kang: I did not consider that, and Luciel can validate the claim about the phone, just not who got it to you, or that you didn’t get it yourself by doing something...nefarious to get into Rika’s apartment._

_You: I don’t know who Rika is but I could probably get my apartment’s corridor security tape and you’ll see it’s not me? Or maybe if that Rika girl’s place has some, check hers. I was just trying to do a good thing and get this phone back to the right person._

_You: I’m too hungover for this bullshit...._

_Jaehee Kang: I...can appreciate that if what you’re saying is true, that it might be a little scary._

_Yoosung★: 707 can hack the cameras! But I believe her_ _😊_

 

_Jumin Han: You’re just saying that because she’s a girl._

_Jumin Han: What do you mean you know Zen? Explain yourself. Now._

Wanting to shut this guy up and still feeling like liquid garbage, you take a front-facing selfie after wiping your makeup off your face and flattening your messy hair down, honestly, you think you look pretty rough and it shows, your eyes are tired but your face is otherwise pretty, just haggard with exhaustion.

 

_IMG_UPLOAD01.JPG_

_Yoosung★: OMG!!! IT IZ A GIRL!_

You promptly pass out to a flurry of incoming messages, the last one you see, being an incredulous one from the musical actor of last night.

 

_ZEN: You’re THAT Sahara..?!_

* * *

 

**To be Continued.**


	2. The Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you receive a mixed reception from the RFA, and try to keep your messy life together.

It’s 6:00PM by the time you wake up, and finally check the voicemails left by Wu. The other phone isn’t even a priority as much as getting a shower is and rubbing some balm on the callouses forming on your feet. There’s light bruising around your toes and heel from the constant stress your various overlarge heels. Sometimes they bled, but not as much anymore. In truth, you just let the Mystery Phone go off on its own, Wu’s voicemail was to tell you that you’re expected at a freshly renovated club on the other side of Gangnam-gu called The Red, and to check your emails. The other phone is, at this point, your lowest priority.

 

Eventually, you open up the thing, covered in bath gown and towel turban, dripping across your apartment before you settle in front of the TV once more.

 

**_RFA CHATROOM_ **

****

_ONLINE: Jumin Han, ZEN, Jaehee Kang, 707,_ _Yoosung_ _★_

It seemed that Zen’s admission had spurned a variety of comments, but you held off on answering. You wanted to see what the big deal about this sketchy app and phone was, and so scrolled through some of the historic chat records. It might be a bit nosy, but you felt like your life had been intruded on, by somewhat rude and suspicious people, so you had a look. It seemed these people were good friends from what you could gather, and they all had their own input about what sounded like decently important people. You could see why maybe they would prefer the content of the app to stay private, it might not look very good to some business types, even though there wasn’t anything that stuck out as incriminating right off the bat. There was a lot of sad talk about this ‘Rika’ person a while back, and a person called ‘V’ who used to log in, but nothing much you cared to note.

 

_ZEN: Ohhh, she’s back online! Hey!_

_You: Hello. I fell asleep again. I wasn’t ignoring anybody._

You didn’t feel too bad, but there were points after you’d passed out that Zen and the others asked you things and you simply didn’t reply, until one of them supposed you’re just away from the phone.

_ZEN: Really? I’m not surprised. You looked tired in your photo babe~_

_Yoosung★: ur really pretty ~_

_Yoosung★: Zen sent some photos_

 

You felt yourself strangely embarrassed, staring at your photo with Zen in the strange group, yes, it was publicly available on Instax but you barely remembered taking it. It’s a feeling that you should be used to by now, but something about looking at your own sloshed state the night before always made you feel a bit...off. There’s plenty of happy photos, but so many of them are just for show, and so many are just blurs in your actual head that the physical representation of missing time is just unsettling.

_ZEN: Upload_202.jpg_

_Yoosung★: Bellydancer~_

_Yoosung★: You look like a desert princess!!! >.<_

_Jumin Han: So, you are a hostess._

_Jumin Han: Zen, you should be careful about where you take photos._

_Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han is correct, your public image will always be under scrutiny so you have to be more careful..._

_ZEN: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with these photos._

_Yoosung★: Ya, wuts the problem??_

_ZEN: A beautiful man should surround himself with beautiful things (;_

 

The more innocent of them, Yoosung, sends a ream of confused emojis whilst this ‘707’ is absolutely silent, and you find yourself getting really irritated as you catch up on the judgmental conversation. Zen uploads some promotional photos that the club photographers had taken where he was in them, which in and of themselves, are inoffensive, but you supposed the ones of you might be. There’s a few of different girls in earlier photos and discussions of Zen’s night out with his agent, Millennium’s more upscale reputation seemed to save you from too many poor comments, but there seemed to be a lot of judgement from two particular members of the group, Jumin and his assistant. After what seems like an eternity, you jump in.

 

_You: And just what are you two getting at, Han. Kang?_

 

You use their last names with precisely the same amount of respect it felt like they gave you, which earned a shocked emoji from 707, finally.

_You: both of you seem to be skirting around what you actually think but have managed to be rude anyway._

 

Honestly, you were half tempted to send a photo of yourself flipping off the camera but reasoned that was immature – even as you started to get more and more annoyed by the attitude some of these strangers were levying your way.

 

_707: Ohoh, I think you two have offended her~_

_Jaehee Kang: That was not the intent. My apologies if I did._

Jumin said nothing on that front, and the chat seemed to quieten when it became apparent that you were furiously mashing the screen to respond. Honestly, you dealt with this shit too much as it is, you didn’t need that judgement in your down time.

 

_You: I’m a VIP hostess, bar staff and club promoter as well as deputy manager to the regional boss when he needs me to be._

 

You really wished you could convey an icy tone, but your photos were of you in a luxurious belly-dance outfit, some on Wu’s knee and posing with a mouth-veil and flirtatious smile besides Zen, and you’re not sure why, but it felt like you had to prove a point that women could be more than one thing, and that the responsibilities of hostesses are many, _especially you_ – with extra titles.

 

 _You_ : _IMG_UPLOAD23.jpg_

_IMG_UPLOAD25.jpg_

_IMG_UPLOAD30.jpg_

There are photos of you with Wu in a much smarter business attire with a short leather dress and a tag on your breast that read manager whilst the two of you posed for celebratory drinks for the opening of the Player’s Lounge in Millennium. There’s one of your business cards, which lists your multiple roles for the explicit purpose of club promotion, and an advertisement shot of you with another girl holding the black and gold loyalty cards offered by Wu’s establishments for high rolling clientele.

 

_You: So, while I am mainly a hostess, I would appreciate not being talked about like I’m something Zen should be embarrassed to be seen with._

_707: lolololol she’s calling you out, trust fund kid._

_You: We work incredibly hard to be a reputable establishment, while still doing everything that clients want, and telling them what they want to hear. We service your business meetings. Me and my girls get used as buffers between men and their awkward colleagues._

_You: but what would someone like you care about that?_

_Jumin Han: Someone like me?_

 

Oh, now he speaks, you narrow your eyes and file away the trust fund comment, a quick google search told you what you needed to know about the prominent people allegedly in this group (assuming you aren’t being messed with, that is) – and you were not impressed. Sure, Wu might kill you for actually talking to potential clients and powerful people this way, but if they want to keep their precious app secret, it wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon. With a wicked smirk, you let them know exactly what you thought.

 

_You: I’ve talked to lots of people like you._

_You: You have no idea how hard it can be, and a lot of us don’t have options outside of this and yet you judge us anyway_

_Yoosung★: That is actually very sad... :’(_

_Yoosung★: but seeing Jumin get told off is pretty funny..._

_707: lolololol yeah_

_You: I’ll spare you the lecture since people like you rarely care but be more careful about who you look down your nose at._

_Jumin Han: Is that a threat?_

_You: No, advice. I’m sick of seeing my girls treated like garbage from men like you._

_ZEN: wowow, you’re really letting him have it..._

_Jaehee Kang: It was not our intent to upset and offend you._

_Jaehee Kang: I can understand how it came across poorly._

_Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han can often be abrupt and taciturn. I also did not mean to come across in such a way. I have little experience with night life work and made assumptions._

_ZEN: She works for Wu Hyun Su, the man in the nice jacket. He sponsors the Performing Arts Society~_

_ZEN: He owns a lot of businesses. I think has a lot of respect for you because you looked close, Sahara._

_ZEN: I was a little jealous~_

You almost wanted to laugh and were unsurprised when Jumin did not offer an apology but a simple acknowledgement of his assistant’s words. There is still no word on the unknown person either, and you’re about to put the phone away until the chat lights up in a flurry as a new person signs in, simply called ‘V’. However, you decide enough is enough, and curiosity is not enough to keep you involved in this weird application, you had things to prepare before you went to The Red.

_You: You know what? Call me if it’s urgent but don’t expect me to be in a good mood. I have to get ready for work. I work from 8PM to 6AM._

_You: A bunch of shady judgmental people are the bottom on my list of concerns._

_YOU HAVE LOGGED OFF._

 

Maybe you were a little harsh, but one cursory look back at Jumin Han’s attitude towards you reaffirmed how you felt, and you stuffed the suspicious phone with your own inside your side bag and began getting ready for the night. There isn't much left to do between you finishing a shift, sleeping, waking up and going right back at it again.

 

It takes a little while for you to complete your physical look though and you call a cab to take you to the new venue as the clouds begin to darken. The cabbie arrives in a small, discreet black car with tinted windows, a service that is subsidised by Wu, they know not to ask you too many questions unless you initiate them, so the driver just smiles thinly and ignores you. You roll and stretch a little in preparation for the long night ahead of you. The sleep hadn't been fantastic, and your bruising made you not want to put anything exotifying on. You reach into your small bag, ignoring the phones, and begin nursing a rather large sized flask as you looked out at the neon signs of Gangnam-gu lighting up the road and exciting revellers and those leaving work. The bitter sting of alcohol hit you hard but you were used to it now, so your body did not flinch or inwardly cringe at the sharp flavours of dark rum.

 

The driver doesn't comment, and instead turns on some soft radio while you close your eyes and begin to chase a buzz before work, taking in the view of South Korea's streets. It would almost be beautiful if you didn't feel so utterly unexcited about the long night that was ahead of you.

 

There isn’t much left to do but wait once you’re passed through a satin belt barrier into The Red. Several security guards followed you and dispersed to different exits. Everything is quiet as employees rush to open. Well, until the RFA phone rings, and you have half a mind not to pick up. Strangely, it’s through the application, which seems to run like wi-fi based calling and texting apps, and had the member’s numbers in it readily stored, because you saw both a profile photo and a name.

 

Well, if you could really call ‘V’ a name.

 

A soft, apologetic, somewhat demure male voice answered, and from that point on, your life changed forever.

 

 

* * *

 

Wu greets you, he's at the opening of The Red, along with his friends. The moment you step out of the cab there's some club photographers snapping a few pictures - you're not really a celebrity, but you're a recognised figure, and when Wu takes you by the arm, it is all anybody notices. There's often mixed media reports about the nature of Wu's relationship with you in local financial times magazines that look at business chains and smaller operations within Gangnam-gu, but whilst you might retain a spot as one of Wu's more favourable workers, you are just that - a worker. 

 

Once upon a time, you might have had a brief attraction to Wu, and acted upon it, but those days had long since passed, and the man made no indication that he particularly missed it, nor did he treat you any lesser by demoting you after your relationship, It was probably one of the few things that Wu had going for him as a positive character trait. You shove the call with the mysterious 'V' to the back of your mind and focus on your real job, the one that actually pays you and keeps you more than afloat. In your hand is your new side bag, a gift from a patron that got you an approving smile from Wu, who seemed to know who left it.

 

"This is my new business partner, Johnny Wong, Wong, this is the girl I told you about," he said, pushing you into the direction. He's a Chinese man whose significantly older than Wu and had traces of silver in his back-combed black hair, which was surprisingly thick for his age, and had matching silvery eyes. He isn't an ugly man, but he isn't handsome either - or your type, and had to be in his early 50s, despite his few age-lines. His hands landed directly on your hips as he pulled you in for something more intimate than you were used to for first-time meetings unless you were initiating for paying patrons. It's like you're magnetic, though. You walk into a room, and people want to touch you after you greet them warmly, when you make others laugh - sometimes, the more demure hostesses, despite being far more good-looking, wish they were you.

 

That is a simple fact.

 

Wong is apparently the owner of this particular club and had funnelled a lot of money to Wu and his operation, and Wu wanted to show him a good time, and his thanks.

 

Too bad nobody told you that he had particular tastes, and Wu thought you, the iconic people-pleaser, would be best suited to those tastes.

 

"Aren't you going to dance for me?" he gestures to the podiums scattered across The Red, each light up vibrantly at their base like a small strobe show and you notice that it's largely employees or particularly attractive women told to dance while others stare after them and try desperately to get closer to the dancers, wanting to be in their aura.  You smile tightly and make your way over to the closest podium, sharing briefly with a small little woman before you takes the hint and steps down to the awaiting arms of someone you supposed might be a partner. Vaguely, you're aware of more club photography occurring as you did your best to move as sensuously as the tube dress would allow.

 

It's only when you spot Wu make a come-hither gesture from a seated booth some time later than you stop, mingling sweat with strangers on your way back to the booth.

 

Wong just smirks at you, silvery eyes glittering in the lowlight. You suppose he could be considered a silver-fox.

 

"As usual, Wu fails to disappoint," Wong speaks in what can only be called a dulcet drawl, that somehow carries over the pounding music. Wu is watching you intently while you pour them both drinks and smiles when Wong makes you drink first. It feels like there's a joke that you're just not in on, or that you're the punchline. Your gut never steers you wrong and you look worryingly at Wu, who just gives you an impassive look as he nurses his own shot of whiskey. In truth, Wong doesn't ask you very many questions besides where you're from and whether you've had any memorable experiences. 

 

That one caught you off-guard. 

 

"Memorable experiences...?" you trailed off, looking at Wu uncertainly, who gave you zero cues on how to handle the unexpected question, but was looking at you critically.

 

"While you've been in Korea," Wong adds with a smile, a hand nesting itself on your knee under the table causing your skin to suddenly feel icy beneath your exterior, as though your bones were about to simply freeze in place. You don't let the internal panic show on your face, because to some extent, this has been planned, and it is not the first time Wu had put you in situations with his  _special friends._ You set your jaw firmly and do your best not to shudder, knocking back the rest of what is in your glass to pile onto the buzz you had started in the cab ride over and did your best to loosen up and remain your charismatic, overfriendly, touch-happy self.

 

"With Korean men you mean?" you gave him an impish smile that told the businessman he'd been caught out - a risky move, but you follow it up with a chirpy laugh and smile tightly at the man when he grins in affirmation that, it was indeed where he was eventually going to direct the conversation - you could spot them a mile off by now. They're all the same.

 

"Well, Wu has taken care of me like no other," you say, hoping to bait the man at least a little into getting you away from Wong. Sure, Johnny Wong might be nice, but this is exactly the kind of thing you try to stay away from. Wu's business rules make it so you cannot flounder off with VIPs, unless they are on Wu's Approved List - and had a certain amount of loyalty points on their black card system that would be recognised as convertible currency to purchasing drinks and therefore time, with the hostesses, as prices for buying for hostesses was an upcharge. You swallow and look over at Wu - getting a sense that Wong is probably on the Approved List, and that he wants you to keep him company even after the venue shuts. It isn't something you do, and you resist and refuse at every opportunity until it gets you brought directly to Wu for discipline.

 

And thus, Wu is the only person you have slept with as a result.

 

"Wu, you dog!" Wong laughs good-naturedly "-now I see why he spoke so highly of you," he's smiling warmly, but it does not reach his eyes.

 

The sinking feeling in your stomach increases by the second, and the icy sensation under your skin whilst Wong's hands slid up your netted tights. There's a round of champagne ordered and you do your best to loosen up, deciding to share some stories of some of your stranger patron encounters and their wild travelling tales. You spoke about tropical climates and Western food, and for Wong's benefit, threw in a few lines about wanting to explore mainland China, which earned a small glow from the man.  

 

People absolutely love talking about home, sans you.

 

"Maybe you'll see China some day," Wong says with a smile, his hand now firmly up your tube dress and flat against your thigh, making your knees and legs stiffen utterly before you could stop it. 

 

Wu ignored your pleading looks, with a casual smile and a sip of bourbon.

 

 You pick up one of the bottles which had yet to be opened, open it briskly and keep it nested on your lap, claiming it as your own which earned a surprised chuckle from Wong and a derisive snort from Wu, who begin talking about a few business matters regarding expected targets, and recruitment time, and when he'd be expected to report his takings, just in loose in terms. The entire duration, Wong's hand is doing a delicate rubbing motion on your thigh, not riding it up further, but enough to make you feel vulnerable. Eventually, you move the leg that Wong isn't touching, and glide the side of your high-heel up Wu's left trouser leg, before subtly pressing the tip of your shoe to his belt and being relieved that the table covered up the action, and that the revellers didn't concern themselves with the hushed talks at the booths.

 

It's at this moment, Wu gives you a chilling, toothy smile and gets up sharply, offering you his hand, and you take it with such aggression that you barely hide it, feeling a relieved sting of tears in the back of your eyes, that you simply blink back. Wu makes up an excuse to depart and have a quiet word with you. Wong hides his disappointment, but flashes you a little smile, raising his glass up to his lips as he does.

 

Wu weaved you both through the crowd until you're within sight of the administrative office in the soundproofed section of the building at the back, bouncers don't even glance at the pair of you. 

 

All too suddenly, Wu slams you into the small office reserved for the club manager to check takings and conduct official business. If you weren't incredibly drunk, it would have hurt a lot more, and instead your alcoholic breath just washes over the man who wrinkles his face a little in disgust and gives you a dark look.

 

"See, no matter what bullshit games you try to play with me, you'll do what I want, because if you don't, there's always something worse than me waiting for you once I leave you behind, do you understand now?" he pushes against you with force when you try to push his body back just to give some air between the pair of you, the stinging feeling returning to your eyes and a vague sense of terror completely overtaking the relief you'd felt earlier.

 

So, Wu is still mad about that little backhanded compliment from the night prior, or maybe he's just in a bad mood?

 

Honestly, he doesn't need a reason to act so volatile.

 

"Yeah, boss," you rasp out, giving him your best attempt at a mournful look, ignoring the urge to push him back with all of your might. Wu might be a shithead at times, but you know him, you've been with him, and the devil you know is much easier to predict than the one you do not. 

 

"Now you're going to go in there, and you're going to smile at Wong, you're going to laugh at his shitty jokes, and answer his annoying questions, and then thank him for the pleasure - if you want to go home with me, because I assure you, the other option will not be as pleasant," he leans in for your ear, almost nipping it with his teeth, and whispers something soft and chilling that raises goosebumps over every visible strip of flesh on your body that earns a dark chuckle from the man.

 

"Wong used to be my babysitter, once upon a time - and you know," his voice dipped into a low, almost seductive purr that felt horribly wrong coming out of Wu's mouth. 

 

_"Johnny Wong broke every toy I'd ever owned."_

 

You screw your eyes shut to keep the terror back, and the warmth of tears from actually spilling. You might be drunk, but you can hear a credible threat from a mile away.

 

 _So what exactly do you think Wong would do to you, if i let him? You wilful little shit? -_ is the unspoken thing Wu is conveying.

 

You swallow thickly and audibly until the man releases you, but not before running his hands up and down the length of your body, and then pinching your inner thigh so hard you actually let out a brief noise of pain, knowing that he was fully intending on leaving bruises on you that you absolutely did not want, and drunk or not, you actually did manage to feel that one. You couldn't predict Wu's moods, they were sporadic and random. You could never tell when you'd offended him or genuinely made him laugh, or if he was simply in a bad mood for the sake of being in a bad mood. You don't even question where this incident has come from. You know better.

 

Going into the main room and rejoining the businessmen in the booths, you make a point to get almost black out drunk. Every time you close your eyes to blink, it feels like a whirlwind of time has passed that you inexplicably cannot account for, and you're practically swaying in place, but earn a rich amount of laughs from Wu, Wong and several other men who are turning a flush colour from the things you were saying. There's a few pictures being taken and you ignore the flash photography, your head resting heavily on Wu's shoulder as your smile feels like it's getting so numb that it's wonky on your own face.

 

When you closed your eyes to rest them, you would not wake up until you found yourself in an unfamiliar place. The ceiling was a strange, grey colour with rose patterns etched into them which is mindless and repetitive enough that staring at it would put you back to bed. It is an unfamiliar environment - and holy shit your whole body fucking  _hurts._

 

It isn't your apartment, or one you recognise, but that doesn't fill you with as much terror as it should, just mild unease. Looking down, you see you're utterly naked, but there's a series of marks on your body you don't recall getting - there's two from Wu and his manhandling, but your torso is covered in scratches and dark, purpling bruises. You wince, and feel your lips quiver and stomach churn with the telltale urge of wanting to throw up. There's huge portions of the night you don't remember, and your head is throbbing as per usual. 

 

The bed you're in has an ugly lime green sheet, but it is thankfully empty. Your body aches and you wrap your arms around your stomach and let out a long, shuddering breath, before turning to an end table beside the bed which had your purse on it. In all honestly, you still feel a little drunk, and inside is your bank card, untouched, some crumpled won, untouched, your flask - half empty, and the two phones. In bleary eyes confusion you reach for the first one that turns on in the bag and go to call Wu after checking the time on an ancient looking analogue clock that hung on the wall - it's early. Too early.

 

Whoever had been here with you was clearly gone, but your body felt the pain all the same. It's with surprise the phone rings, and it's only ever Wu when it comes to the morning after a big launch type event, and ignoring the abrasive ring, you pick it up, cringing noticably when you feel something red on your leg.

 

_Is that.... blood?_

 

Standing up is not going to be fun, and suddenly, all at once as your fingers touched the maroon, your shoulders quaked, and you slurred down the phone. You smash the green 'pick up' phone button, eyes so blurry that all you see is a mixture of black on the screen, before answering it.

 

"Hello...?" it's a male voice, and you don't immediately recognise that it isn't Wu but the fact that it is male was confirmation for you enough, in your state, you begin to tremble, and hope to appeal to his better nature. Wu tended to have a rapid mood switch after getting unexpectedly abrasive with you - and the state of your body told you he had been particularly rough, and though you may resent the man for essentially owning you, it usually meant you got a few paid days off to nurse yourself into respectable health to be seen in public as a hostess. He always regrets hurting you, it is in his nature, and right now, you let out a strangled noise, trying not to sound pathetic. Wu doesn't like hearing you snivel too much for too long because his patience is short, and he doesn't like trying to decipher you.

 

"M'sr Wu..." you choked out, trying to keep your voice clear enough to understand, you blearily looked around the unfamiliar room which looked like a lower-scale motel of some sort, and you could not for the life of you, move from the bed, the pain in your thighs was particularly exquisite. 

 

"Ms'r Wu, I dh'nt know w-where I am," you felt too awful to ponder on how pathetic you sounded, hiccuping slightly and audibly swallowing about the torrent of vomit that wanted to come out. "-and it hurts s-so much. I need.. can you send.. someone?"

 

You chewed down on your bottom lip, it's obvious in your voice that you're crying, and you sound far more like a bewildered little girl than you had ever wanted to sound.

 

"Ms'r Wu,  _pleash - I n..need help,"_ your Korean breaks into English and there's radio silence down the line as your heavy, staggered breathing registers down it, before finally, the soothing, oddly monotone, male voice spoke back at you.

 

"I'm not Wu," was all it said - before you tore it from your ear and slammed it down on the covers in frustration, you'd deal with the fallout later, resolving that you'd just have to try and wipe yourself up and get your clothes on and find a way home. You still had all your things, you'd just have to hope you could get GPS location working to call a taxi to...wherever here was. After blinking tears out of your eyes, even in your groggy state, you recognised the phone as being the suspicious phone from earlier, and not your own, which actually had Wu's number, and simply let out a noise of annoyance and defeat.

 

Fucking perfect.

 

You pick the phone up off the bed with clearer vision but whoever it was, hung up when you did not speak for a while - you almost go for the call log, but opt to turn the fucking thing off, and reach for your actual phone to call Wu.

 

You miss a simple message into a largely empty chatroom as the phone turns itself off.

 

 

**_RFA PRIVATE TEXT MESSAGE CLIENT_ **

 

_Jumin Han: What do you mean, you have no idea where you are?_

_(_ S _ent: 6:00AM )_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments fuel my writing, R&R?


	3. The Beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you disappear

 

 

 

V is a notoriously secretive and often busy man that often leaves even his most trustworthy friend, Jumin Han, at a loss. This is one of those times, because it was readily apparent to Jumin that V had every intention of letting you join the RFA, for reasons undisclosed, and by the time Jumin had contacted him, already had Luciel – that is – 707, doing a deep background into her actual job roles and connections.

 

“On paper, she’s perfect for the RFA,” was what V had said, his voice was soft but insistent, and on Jumin’s own laptop he can see the reasoning. The videos of red ribbon openings to exclusive and high price venues all over Gangnam-gu, the pictures of you wining and dining businessmen and executives – not as a lap warmer but almost as though you’re friends, are all over your Instax and social media. Plenty of them smiling and posing, too, and not carrying the shame usually associated with hostesses. In every photo there are long-necked bottles or glistening shot glasses in everybody’s hands and you in varying states of dress, oozing a strange sort of charm. It seemed that the supposedly virtuous reputation that Wu Hyun Su tried to sell was at least partially successful judging from the sorts of publicity he could see. Jumin is therefore a little unsure of what the draw is to justify a nightclub’s VIP treatment to be exorbitantly expensive, but pushes it to the back of his mind, there is the pressing matter of the phone call to deal with. He can accept V’s decision, but it means he has obligations now, especially to you. The call pleading for help can thus not be ignored. Not easily.

 

So he sends a phone call recording to V, and asks what he should do, Jumin has a background application that records his phone calls for anything he’ll need to listen back to, or pass onto Jaehee if he receives important information outside of business hours, or just wants the comfort of being able to go back to an important conversation of which he has many.

 

 _‘Ms'r Wu, pleash - I n..need help,’_ he stares at the Instax profile in front of him, laptop sitting neatly on his slacks as the words play in his mind. It doesn’t match up – those words to that face. He’s never heard what you sound like before, until that call, and it just does not align with the fiery attitude he was given in the RFA chat, nor with what he was staring at on his screen. His cursor hovered over a set of promotional slide images. In each that you’re in, you present as confident, happy – even enticing. The last one is the strangest choice on part of the photographer, of you leaning forward over a pristine, postmodern looking sink, one hand with noticeably made-up turquoise nails reflecting off the ambient lighting. In the other hand, is a wine-red lipstick going over your lips, camera angled for showing off interior design of the nightclub bathrooms, and your body, with a sleazy little hashtag accompanying it.

 

# _Come for the glam, stay for the girls._

_#MillenniumOfficial_

It just didn’t align with the phone call at all, which struck him as something private and vulnerable, and in truth, he did contemplate putting it in the main chatroom for the RFA members – he isn’t a huge fan of keeping information from them unless it’s necessary and more efficient to do so. However, you are the newest addition, and on some level, Jumin feels an obligation to share his concerns, but on a human level, it feels...wrong. He might not seem the most in touch with his more human emotions at time, particularly around his employees, but he is, if you know what to look for.

 

When he considers that maybe his initial urge to leak the phone call to the main RFA chat might be correct, he hovers his finger over the _play audio_ button, and it fills the empty office he is in. Every time he listens to it, he picks up on something different. A voice warble, a thick, swallowing noise, a tremble in breathing patterns, a change in pitch, a timid slur...  Admittedly, the moment he hung up on that call once it became a clear case of mistaken identity, confusion and utter silence, he was a bit preoccupied by it. Who wouldn’t be?

 

 _Probably just drunk and lost,_ Jumin tells himself, narrowing his eyes and going to close the social media tab, and as if on cue, the recording continues.

 

_‘Ms'r Wu, I dh'nt know w-where I am...and it hurts s-so much’_

 

Jumin’s finger drums against the side of his laptop out of nervous habit, waiting on an email or some sort of private contact from Seven. The problem was, logically, batted over to the person with the most efficient and direct technical skills available. The issue is that Seven is usually profoundly busy, with unpredictable hours, almost as much as V himself, though Seven is at least more reachable. It feels a little odd keeping his assistant out of it, and stranger to do it to Zen, who actually met you and has more of a reason to care, however slight it may be.

 

 _‘Ms'r Wu, pleash - I n..need help,’_ the English words jarred the young heir, and the recording ended with the sound of something brushing and muffling the mic some time after Jumin’s own confused, soft monotone states that he isn’t this _Wu_ person. It cuts a few minutes later, when Jumin’s recorded polite and confused enquiries are met with radio silence.

 

 _She’s drunk, lost, and just hurt herself a bit. Which happens when people get drunk._ Jumin reasons with himself, trying to dispel the uncomfortably, icy feeling in his gut when he plays the recording back, which only increases when Seven finally reaches back to him.

 

**RFA PRIVATE TEXT MESSAGE CLIENT**

_707: I can’t get a ping location of Rika’s phone because it’s turned off >.>’’’_

_707: I got a rough location from the last time it was on_

_707: buuuuuut unless she turns it back on again I cant narrow it down to more than few miles somewhere in north Gangnam-gu ¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

Well, that was unsettling, and any attempt to call Rika’s old phone did result in the standard ‘phone is turned off’ voicemail box. Jumin isn’t one to sink himself deeply into these kinds of affairs with people he doesn’t know, but he seems to have inadvertently put his foot squarely in it. Admittedly, he’d called in the first place in order to hear what you sounded like, and to offer an apology, regardless of if it was sincere or not, because he did not want to be the cause of true, negative discourse when the RFA desperately needs to hold together.

 

He had made a point to call you the moment you were off work, when he was waking to start his day early, to hopefully catch you in a better mood. Jumin did not expect to be on the receiving end of...whatever the hell that phone call was about. Really.

 

**RFA PRIVATE TEXT MESSAGE CLIENT**

 

_Jumin Han: Keep trying. V wants her on board. It is probably nothing._

_Jumin Han: She sounded drunk._

_707: ¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯she sounded a lotta things. I’ll know as soon as she switches on though. I set up an alert_

_707: It’s easy since V already is making me do a deep background lololol_

_Jumin Han: I would like that very much when it is completed._

_707: idk man ( >.<) you’d have to ask V. I see a lot of private stuff....( o .<)_

Private stuff was a purposefully vague and irritating way to put it, especially to a man who prefers clarity and conciseness. Still, 707 is incredibly good at what he does, even if the phone stayed off for too long, Jumin has no doubt in his mind that 707 would find some sort of way to glean information. There has been no interaction in the RFA’s application from the new addition either, and whilst Jumin’s text had delivered, it had not been read. Frowning a little, he closes your social media and tries to compartmentalize, no good ever came of worrying, and he’s done what he can. 

 

He turns off his devices to sleep, sets an alarm, and lets out a deep sigh, sleeping as Seven continues his own work well into the night, readying a report littered with emoticons slipping in the more tired he gets. A noise bursts out of his desktop with a sound so loud it jolts him awake in his chair. Seven groaned a little, head feeling fuzzy and his neck stiff, eyes burning with the desire to sleep, he rubs them beneath his animal print-frame glasses and squints at the screen.

 

_Ping!_

_Meowei-XDC device online._

 

"Warrior for Justice and saviour of fair maidens, you've done it again!" Seven exclaims, to nobody in particular - well, maybe to his desk toy, and immediately begins harvesting data. Calling it an act of chivalry the only way he can justify putting in so much effort besides blind trust in V and Jumin's judgement that this is worth all of the hassle. Plus, it really did sound like a girl might be in real trouble, and Seven isn't totally without heart - not by a long shot. The unnatural dissemination of the information was sure to cause a small stink. Ever since V had become more hands-off with the RFA, it felt like there too many things left unsaid between members and an unnatural amount of secretiveness that did not bode well for the friendships behind Rika's Fundraising Association. Now it just felt like there was another secret, granted, it doesn't seem as monumental as the queerness surrounding Rika's death, it still feels serious enough that it's going to further agitate Yoosung, and perhaps alienate him just that little more. Thankfully, Seven isn't the one whose going to explain, Jumin has agreed not to leave him high and dry when it comes to explaining the mystery surrounding the RFAs newest member. There's a unique and inherent sense of danger to some of the things Seven has dredged up when composing your file, the kinds of people you were on record to associate with had some mixed reception and some unsettling rumours around them. It would take Seven a little more time to research those connections exactly, so far his focus was on you and your location.

 

He too, has played the recorded call a few times, and has gone through your social media with a fine toothed comb, ripping exif data and geolocation tags and tracking information off of every recent photo and everything you have been tagged in by others. The issue is, these uploads don't seem to be happening in real time, and he feels as though he's running after you, picking up the crumbs of where you were before. Rika's phone being turned on was the lifeline Seven needed to find you, but seemed to sporadically get turned off after being used to find directions to different places. 

 

V and Jumin have agreed that it doesn't feel appropriate to post the distressed call in the RFA chatroom, unless you yourself agreed to it, because it is so intimate and helpless - and in truth, was a mistake, Jumin was never supposed to hear you sound that way. In fact, Jumin contemplated contacting authorities with it, since it was a little troubling, but received an emphatic negative from V, who would not elaborate as to why, but assured Jumin that there was good reason for that. 

 

_You could put her in more danger, long term._

 

In typical V fashion, he does not elaborate.

 

When it feels like the phone is going to stay on for a while, Seven sighs and wonders if you might be more trouble than you're worth - not in a truly malicious way but, out of all the people who received Rika's phone, why was it you? Is it just because you rubbed elbows with the rich and RFA-worthy in your line of work? Or something more? He would have given anything to pick Unknown and V's reasoning, but as it stood, had access to neither. There was a whole night between Jumin informing Seven, and Seven working on pulling a location, but it was still troubling, yes, Seven was a fast worker, but that distressed call - it could be equally possible that it is too late to help you. 

 

**RFA CHATROOM**

 

_ONLINE: Jumin Han, 707, Jaehee Kang, Yoosung★, ZEN_

 

_707: Ayyyy full house!  :DD_

_707: it's been a while since we've all been online at the same time this much_

 

_Jumin Han: It's good you're all here, I don't have to call you. We need to talk._

 

_Jaehee Kang: I don't think anything good has ever come of that phrase, Mr. Han._

 

_ZEN: could you sound more ominous?_

 

_Yoosung★: This sounds serious, is everything ok???_

_Yoosung★: Jumin????_

 

_Jumin Han: It's about our new member._

_Yoosung★: she left on a sour note didn't she?_

_Yoosung★: Jumin, you should go and apologise._

 

Jumin bites back his mild surprise at Yoosung, it's not as though he's demure and quiet, but it isn't often that he feels chastised, he'd have expected that from Zen perhaps, but not so much Yoosung. Maybe this is a sign that he's grown up just a little more from Jumin's mental impression of his soft attitude, but nonetheless he presses on. He's going to have to concede that he came off rude, Jaehee did - and did so on his behalf, but it wasn't the same, was it? Just scrolling up a little, he could tell with more and more clarity that you had taken his negative implications exceptionally badly, when you already had so little reason to trust them and the RFA, especially with all the strange circumstances surrounding you and Rika's phone.

 

_Jumin Han: I tried. I called her when she said her shift ended. Early morning, yesterday._

_Jumin Han: V has made her an offer to her in light of her encountering the RFA and absolutely wants to keep her._

_Jumin Han: I have no idea why, but I have known him long enough to trust his judgement._

 

_ZEN: That's.... I wish he would log in more and just tell us these things._

_Yoosung★: I'm so tired of V hiding things._

_Yoosung★: Even though I'm happy that we're all speaking a lotagain_

_Yoosung★: And that it's because of Sahara_

_Yoosung★: I don't like hearing about things this way >.>;_

 

_ZEN: Get to the point trust fund kid. I can see you still typing._

_707: Meow, Zen~ catty today!_

 

_ZEN: Urgh, don't do that._

 

_707: meowmeowmewomewmewMEOOW_

_707: lolololol_

 

Jumin can already feel a small headache about to come on. He really didn't need to take on extra responsibilities outside of the ones he already had. He would have hoped that V could have at least come into the RFA application at some point to inform the members that he had extended a formal job offer to essentially fill Rika's role, and that you had tentatively accepted it, only, that would have caused the members to ask him why, and V is not a fan of sharing his reasons for doing anything. It's easy for Jumin to see how Yoosung can get so resentful of that man and displace all of his unresolved feelings onto someone hoarding so many half-truths and secrets to themselves. He's tired, and buttoning up his shirt as he glances at his phone going off in rapid fire. Zen's getting ready to go to a rehearsal, Yoosung is dragging himself to an early lecture, Jaehee is always awake before Jumin in order to prepare his schedule and 707 is exclusively here to try and back up Jumin against the tide of questions and fallout from V's seemingly inexplicable choices.

 

It was not going to be an easy day, was it? Between that and having to stomach a luncheon with his father and his insipid actress-turned-girlfriend Glam Choi, he would prefer to have a full frontal lobotomy than have to cope with the schedule ahead of him.

_Jumin Han: Be serious a minute._

_Jumin Han: V has his reasons, I'm sure._

_Jumin Han: I was trying to call her when she finished work to apologise. If we are going to be in the RFA together. We do not need any bad blood._

_ZEN: The mature thing to do would have been not to insult her profession in the first place. You could have just texted me those thoughts._

_ZEN: She was right here._

_ZEN: It was mean, even for you._

 

Jumin honestly struggles to feel too bad about it. It really is hard for him to, most of his life he's been surrounded by gold-digging types and women who fund their lifestyles off of vulnerable, lonely old men who want to date half their age and get convinced that the girls genuinely love them. He'd watched his father get played over and over again ad nauseum so it was easy to place a great amount of dislike on you for the job you had. A job where you were paid by men to drink, smile, flirt and fabricate an interpersonal relationship to fund your lifestyle. Granted, the transactional nature of being a hostess made it strangely a lot more honest than what he's had to stomach watching his entire life, that inherent, visceral dislike was hard for Jumin to rid of himself. He knew he had to, though, and had been thoroughly told off and browbeaten by you in response to that unwarranted level of judgement.

 

With some time to reflect, whilst that inherent dislike was there, Jumin could understand why it would be infuriating - having some random man who'd intruded on your life via suspicious means, insult you in a chatroom even if it was indirectly. It had been enough to sting. 

 

_Jumin Han: I was going to set the record straight, but she appeared confused when she answered. She mistook me for her boss._

_707: Weeeell, you do sound bossy :d_

 

_ZEN: Wu Hyun Su~?_

 

_Jumin Han: That's the one. She said some distressing things thinking I was Wu._

 

_Yoosung★: Distressing? How?_

 

_Jumin Han: That she was lost, and hurt, and for Wu to send someone to collect her. When I told her it wasn't Wu, she hung up before we could talk then turned Rika's phone off._

_Jumin Han: I record my calls because of all the work conversations I have out of Assistant Kang's hours._

_Jumin Han: I forwarded it to V, who has elected to not inform the authorities because he seems to know more than we do and thinks it might put her in danger._

 

Oh, this was going to go down like a lead balloon - Zen could already tell. Yoosung had so many reasons to distrust V and even though Sahara was largely a stranger to everybody except Zen, who only knew you somewhat, this was absolutely going to fuel a preexisting fire. Zen sighed, brushing his hair back into a low pony-tail and heading for the door. He glances down periodically at his phone, mulling over what's been said. A distress call is bad, but what is so awful the police cannot be called? Then again, they could even say she hasn't been missing long enough to search for, he isn't sure how that all works, but for whatever reason, V has decided against it. 

 

_Yoosung★:: THAT GUY! >:[[   _

_Yoosung★: How can we trust any of his choices if he doesn't even tell us why he makes them?_

_Yoosung★: That call sounds worrying. She works so late too._

_Yoosung★:I know we don't know her, but something could have happened to her._

 

"Poor thing," Zen murmurs under his breath, out of everyone in the RFA you'd briefly chatted to, you took the biggest issue with Jumin due to his casual backhanded remark about him having a photo with you. Jumin is therefore likely the last person that you would want to hear your distress. He remembers the smiling, charismatic, liquor-happy little creature and frowns at the thought of you being in trouble, he also has an instinctive dislike for Jumin, and so, he finds himself commiserating with you, even if you are just an acquaintance as of right now.  

 

He's also pretty intrigued to hear the distress call, but if Jumin and V agree it's not appropriate to post, then it probably isn't - but he has to wonder what sounds so desperate that it actually makes Jumin, someone who is indomitable to strangers, immediately go to V? Then again, maybe he just underestimates how human the Trust Fund Kid could be. 

 

Maybe.

 

_ZEN: She's a very nice girl ;;_

_ZEN: I only spent a few hours with her and Wu, but she was very lovely. I didn't even feel the time pass~_

_ZEN: I shudder to think of a lovely thing out in the dark and lost like that..._

 

_Jaehee Kang: In this case I have to hope that V's decision is correct._

_Jaehee Kang: This is something I'm more comfortable with authorities handling._

_Jaehee Kang: What is going to happen?_

 

_707: V called me and got me to trace Rika's phone and stuff as soon as it'd get turned on again._

_707: And to do something if she doesn't naturally resurface and come into the chat_

_707: But he did say... to trust our judgement in this. Which was unlike V. He is not imprecise :///_

 

_Jaehee Kang: And how long is appropriate to wait after a distress call like that?_

_Jaehee Kang: I do not like this. Zen, you said she works in Gangnam-gu? That place can get dangerous._

 

_ZEN: I know. I only went because Wu personally invited me after that show. The club is so expensive I could never afford to get up to the Players Lounge otherwise._

_ZEN: General admission yeah, but not VIP_

_ZEN: So it'd be hard for me to go and check on her that way, I don't have the resources Trust Fund has._

 

_Jumin Han: If it's a matter of getting you into Millennium's lounges I can arrange that._

_Jumin Han: The problem is, according to 707, she isn't there, or the address he has for her. It's different from the last location I called her at too. Which means she is moving._

_Jumin Han: This needs to be fixed, now._

 

Zen pauses before he gets too far from his home. He's an intuitive guy most of the time, and he gets an anxious feeling in his stomach that tells him to reschedule his rehearsal and say that he's sick or something. It's not something he would ever do so they would probably let it slide, thinking it's an emergency. Zen is a notorious overworker, one of the few things he shares with both Jumin and Jaehee in personality traits. It would pain him to do so, especially for someone he doesn't really know too well, but Zen prides himself on having a good sense of people, and if the group thinks it's this concerning, he has no problem taking it just as seriously. 

 

There was some debate on if Jumin should just send a security guard with instructions and a car to try and track her down based off of 707's information, but a fair few people had something to say about that. Namely that you had no reason to trust the RFA and that everything about them had been suspicious and insulting outside of your interactions with two people:Zen, and V.

 

He supposed that made sense, and if V was too busy to log onto the RFA chat he is certainly too busy to be chasing ghost trails. Zen is quick to get back home and look at the flood of information Seven is sending him, and it seems the guy really did his homework, and even tried to gain access to the cameras in the area, and found a few, mostly that there were cars blocked up on the road so he will need to get a ride close to wherever you were last and walk in himself to go and find you. There's some loud noise and some rubbish on the lawn outside of the residential area you appear to be in but besides that, nothing to really describe the area. Seven does, however, say it's not a great place just from his cursory research into the general location once he was no longer to ascertain specifics. He also had no idea how long you would actually be there before you'd move, and it'd turn into a cat-and-mouse game of following the geolocation pings Seven has set up.

 

Could it truly be so bad? Zen tells himself it's nothing, really, it could be as Jumin suspects. _She was drunk, she was disorientated, she stumbled into something and hurt herself, it doesn't have to be serious..._

 

_Jumin doesn't overreact, though._

 

Dammit. Okay.

 

Zen quickly changes into something that is decidedly unlike him, because if he's going to a seedy and crowded looking area, he doesn't want to gain the normal amount of attention he gets when he goes out, and that's without considering his growing reputation. He quickly puts on an overlarge grey hoodie he normally reserves for the winter months and does his best to shadow his face with the hood, tucking all of his lengthy hair into the back of it and putting on a dark pair of jeans. sunglasses would probably call more attention to him than necessary, especially as it wasn't a very sunny day as it is.  

 

'It makes sense to do it this way, at least I've actually met her, and can probably charm my way out of it if it turns out to be nothing and we just look weird...' Zen pushes his insecurity aside, apparently, Jumin, V and 707 - all who'd been privy to the call, deemed it important enough to follow up, so Zen wasn't going to fail in this.

 

He just had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing, apparently, so did Jaehee, but their options were slim, and even she had to admit that this was what made the most sense given all the restrictions by V and the realistic reception someone other than Zen might actually receive, especially some random, hired mook from some online guy that you don't even like. Zen gets on a bus to the location, monitoring his phone and sticking one hand in his hoodie pocket. The location is some walk away from the bus, maybe a cab would have been better, Zen muses, but he wants to draw the least amount of attention, if you really are in some kind of trouble.

 

He falters, only for a moment. Maybe he should have agreed to Jumin sending security guards with him.

 

_I just hate getting help off that rich jerk._

 

Clenching his teeth and realising he has no one to blame but himself for his current status of lone-investigator, he walks somewhat aimlessly, trying to get Seven to send him something he can input directly into his phone's GPS and begins fumbling his way there. As he crosses down a somewhat disadvantaged feeling part of Seoul, he frowns, wondering what you could be doing here, of all places? Apparently, you weren't in your apartment, Seven did eventually get access to the cameras, and said it was very unlikely you were there. He even mused on the idea of calling Wu directly, but call it a gut instinct... Zen isn't sure if it's a good idea.  Tilting his head in the direction of a bass-heavy vibration travelling under his feet, he sees a modestly sized home crammed in the area. Immediately he notices discarded cans all over the lawn of various drinks and some plastic wrap. 

 

Yep, this is the place.

 

"Weird time to have a party," Zen mumbled, because what else could it be? The vibrations got louder and by the time he reached the squalid, worn-out wooden door and placed his hand on the knob, he let out a shaky sigh when it opened easily. It seemed they just didn't have anybody watching the door, and the music was so loud he would be surprised if his entrance could be heard. It's some throbbing EDM sounding thing that he cannot think clearly around because it's so loud the deeper he gets into the building that it feels like his teeth are vibrating also, deep inside of his clenched mouth.

 

Looking around, he sees some graffiti on the walls and feels that uneasy feeling in his gut, and a youngish looking man in a sweat-soaked crop-top curled up by the lobby nursing a hangover drink even as the party pounds around him. Zen opens his mouth to talk, but can't even hear himself, and the man simply ignores him.

 

The deeper he gets into the house, the more his stomach starts to sink.

 

'How did I get talked into this...?' he follows through the progressively wrecked looking house, and notes that a great amount of things seem to be smashed. Under his foot, something crunches. Zen bent down to pick it up off of his shoe and blinked, wide-eyed when he sees a 50,000 won note sticking to his heel. It's the largest Korean note you can break for heftier purchases around 40 USD and isn't something people let go out of their wallet easily. He pockets it without a second thought and frowns when it feels as though there's a trail of crumpled up notes leading into an alcove to what he supposes was a living room, swarming with young, college-aged kids. The smell of alcohol is thick in the air, and instantly Zen feels himself getting shouldered and bumped into. 

 

He's barely able to find a corner free enough to shoot a quick text to the group before a unison scream from the room nearly shatters his eardrums.

 

_Fuck!_

 

Zen looks around wildly, seeing people bouncing on their heels with their hands raised, some jumping and knocking into each other and even elbowing and pushing on purpose to gripe for crumpled bank notes flying in the air. A sense of panic and dread begins to sink into him at this point. Just from the sheer levels of excitement and ruthlessness he was witnessing, this was going to get ugly fast, and it was already a pretty awful scene to begin with. He's certain he even stepped in somebody's vomit whilst trying to traverse through the room, his pulse pounding in sync with the bass drowning his ears to the point of wanting to genuinely go deaf just for some respite.

 

He doesn't recognise a single face he sees, and instead looks up at the rain of bank notes, using his considerable height and the strength training he does to push his way through and see where it's coming from. 

 

Zen is greeted with a sight that keeps him rooted on the spot whilst the crowd jumps and screams behind and around him. The poor lighting does nothing to detract or lessen his view of what he lays eyes on. You're bouncing on your feet on top of a table, in a pair of black platforms whilst your knees bumped with enough shakiness that it looked as though you might drop on the spot. Eyes running up your legs as he notices your poor balance, the net tights have a tear up the side and join to a pure black bodysuit - more like a leotard really, that didn't leave too much to the imagination from the waist down at least, save for the black, satin, oversized kimono-cardigan that draped off your arms giving some coverage when it touched your upper thighs. He sees flashes going off constantly from people's camera phones over head - one hand out for won, and one recording and taking snaps of what some screeched was the best night of their life to date.

 

Zen grimaced, how could this be great? He looked at you in shock and slight numbness, unsure of how to process it at first. On your face is an almost maniacal sort of grin, eyes absolutely wild even in this light, an expression he never once saw on you when in the Player's Lounge, it was almost unhinged. Built into your outfit appear to be some support for your chest as you reach into the cups and begin pulling out what seems like an almost endless amount of currency, spraying the crowd with one hand and clutching a long-necked bottle of drink in the other. You manage to scream into it before being directed to the karaoke system's microphone by the young, unshaven and unkempt seeming boy who throws it to you, the wire to the microphone pooling over people's heads.  

 

" _Money keeps coming the longer we keep goin' !"_ followed by a short scream of your own, the microphone is subsequently tossed and it's now that he sees something isn't quite....right. It's a party, yes, but the closer he gets to the table, the more he can see the shadows on your face - under your eyes, and how delicate your balance actually was. He does his best to get your attention, before pushing someone out of the way completely and waving his arms frantically, before slapping one hand on the table repeatedly whilst the crowd is far too preoccupied with the money shower to stop. Yes, you know it's a bad decision, yes, you know it isn't wise - and yet... well, you can weigh it up, you know that if word got out, or rather, when it does, that you could be in some trouble with Wu - if he decides to care, and at the very least, you're putting yourself foolishly at risk, especially hijacking this house party in the way that you had. Flushing a weeks worth of pay in torrents of rain. Yeah, it was a bad idea, yeah, you knew why, but the thing is - you can't bring yourself to care.

 

Consequences are consequences, but if you don't care about them, then what hold do they have over you anymore?

 

Does anything have a hold over you anymore, when you just stop caring like that?

 

" _AND I WANNA KEEP GOIN' TILL WE CANT!"_

 

_When consequences don't matter, you're practically immortal._

 

Looking down, you catch eyes with the familiar red hues from not too long ago. In your addled state, it takes a moment to click, all you see is a man with ruby coloured eyes cloaked mostly by a hoodie, but he opens his arms out, unsure of how to yell at you to come down because he knows he'll be drowned out. He doesn't know what's going on, or why you're doing this, or what you said during the distress call, but he can tell that despite what he's seeing - you're not in a good state. You're one of few women in this house party, you're being stared at hungrily in desire for the money you're carelessly dishing out, and you're not reachable by  _anybody._

 

Zen doesn't even know about the aches travelling through your bones, through your legs, and in your bruises, so aptly covered by the bodysuit, and just stares up at you, worried nonetheless. You mouth his name when you recognise him, surprised and startled, before lighting up, considerably flushed and drunk, you almost jump directly into the arms of this vague familiarity, grinning wildly all the same. The crowd boos for a moment but not for long, they're all scrapping around on the floor for the missed bits of cash and before any of them get any funny ideas about getting ahold of you to strip it out of your costume, something primal clicks in Zen, and he all but hoists you out.

 

You, so drunk that the world seems to sway, feel as though you're floating in Zen's grip, confusion giving way to a happy, thrilling, adrenaline-fuelled haze while you felt the warmth of the hoodie seeping through the sweat-soaked PVC of your leotard. If Zen notices, he doesn't care, he's preoccupied with hauling you out as quickly as possible. Nobody comes to your aid, worryingly, but that's also good, because nobody is going to try and stop Zen from taking you and perhaps doing something more unsavoury once they stop scrapping around at the floor and at each other.

 

"This is going to be a brawl if we stay!" Zen yells, but you cant hear him. He pushes you out desperately, peeling through the graffiti-stained corridor and over the man from earlier, who had since passed out, his heart absolutely pounding. He wasn't able to process what he saw but now was not the time for that, he was still in panic mode, not stopping until the pair of you had been thrown out onto the lawn, and even then, he kept tugging you along. You walked on your own now, but bowlegged and awful, as though your walk cycle had never quite been perfected, a far cry from the effortless grace he'd seen from you in the Player's Lounge. That same, manic smile still on your face, it only fades a little once the cold air hits you in full force, and the music begins to get quieter as Zen does his best to walk you somewhere less public, and a lot further away, as you're clearly dressed for night revels and would attract a lot of negative attention in this awful state.

 

He's in the middle of calling a cab to pick the pair of you up behind a Chinese restaurant while you crumble against the side wall, alcohol still in hand but loosely kept in between your fingetips.

 

"Zen?" you were slurring just a little, but he keeps the frown off his face, still trying to settle his own heartbeat. "Why'd you - where you - we goin' ?" you have so many questions that they mould into one, but he just sighs. He opens his mouth to answer, only to see you lurch forward suddenly, and quickly jumps back.

 

The bottle shatters, and you suddenly feel the contents of your stomach coming up in one acidic puddle, a small distance from Zen's feet. The aches in your body exacerbate from the sensation of losing the heavy slosh of alcohol in your body. The vomit is nothing but clear liquids, much to Zen's mild disgust. On instinct, he reaches forward, quickly grabbing you from behind when it seems you're not going to stay on your feet long enough for the cab to arrive. Both of you are swimming in confusion for different reasons, but he seems to reach a mental clarity, and gives you a tight little smile once it seems you're done being ill.

 

He doesn't answer your confusion immediately and instead pats your back until you splutter out the last of the fluid. It was probably good he was the person who did this - not a lot of the RFA have experience with the unsavoury, and despite Zen's well-to-do background, he'd fallen on hard times enough that he could quickly adapt to things like this. Maybe that's what made him such a good actor? The ability to adapt the way that he does.

 

"Whuhhydoin' 'ehre?" you manage, your throat utterly hoarse at this point.

 

"You said you needed someone sent to you," he settles on that, grimacing a little before it melts into a nervous smile, eyes glistening with genuine concern.

 

_I knew my bad feeling was right. It's always right._

 

"So the RFA came."

 


End file.
